From Atlantic City, N.J., newspaper:
On a recent weekend in Atlantic
City, a woman won a bucketful of quarters at a slot machine. She took a break
from the slots for dinner with her husband in the hotel dining room. But
first she wanted to stash the quarters in her room.
"I'll be right
back and we'll go to eat," she told her husband and she carried the
coin-laden bucket to the elevator.
As she was about to walk into the
elevator she noticed two men already aboard. Both were black. One of them was
big, very big, an intimidating figure. The woman froze. Her first thought
was: These two are going to rob me.
Her next thought was: Don't be a
bigot, they look like perfectly nice gentlemen. But racial stereotypes are
powerful, and fear immobilized her. She stood and stared at the two men. She
felt anxious, flustered, ashamed. She hoped they didn't read her mind, but
knew they surely did; her hesitation about joining them on the elevator was
all too obvious. Her face was flushed. She couldn't just stand there, so with
a mighty effort of will she picked up one foot and stepped forward and
followed with the other foot and was on the elevator.
Avoiding eye
contact, she turned around stiffly and faced the elevator doors as they
closed. A second passed, and then another second, and then another. Her fear
increased! The elevator didn't move.
Panic consumed her.
My God, she thought, I'm trapped and about to be robbed! Her heart plummeted.
Perspiration poured from every pore.
Then....one of the men said, "Hit
the floor."
Instinct told her: Do what they tell you. The bucket of
quarters flew upwards as she threw out her arms and collapsed on the elevator
carpet. A shower of coins rained down on her. Take my money and spare me, she
prayed.
More seconds passed.
She heard one of the men say
politely, "Ma'am, if you'll just tell us what floor you're going to, we'll
push the button."
The one who said it had a little trouble getting the
words out. He was trying mightily to hold in a belly laugh. She lifted her
head and looked up at the two men. They reached down to help her up.
Confused, she struggled to her feet.
"When I told my man here to
hit the floor," said the average sized one, "I meant that he should hit the
elevator button for our floor. I didn't mean for you to hit the floor,
ma'am." He spoke genially.
He bit his lip. It was obvious he
was having a hard time not laughing. She thought: My God, what a spectacle
I've made of myself.
She was too humiliated to speak. She wanted to
blurt out an apology, but words failed her. How do you apologize to two
perfectly respectable gentlemen for behaving as though they were going
to rob you? She didn't know what to say. The 3 of them gathered up the
strewn quarters and refilled her bucket.
When the elevator arrived at
her floor they insisted on walking her to her room. She seemed a little
unsteady on her feet, and they were afraid she might not make it down the
corridor. At her door they bid her a good evening.
As she slipped
into her room she could hear them roaring with laughter while they walked
back to the elevator.
The woman brushed herself off. She pulled
herself together and went downstairs for dinner with her husband.
The
next morning flowers were delivered to her room - a dozen roses. Attached to
EACH rose was a crisp one hundred dollar bill. The card said: "Thanks for the
best laugh we've had in years." It was signed, Eddie Murphy and Michael
Jordan.
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